


Breathing Through My Heart

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:30:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: Some people cry when they feel good. Really good.





	Breathing Through My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> JK is the genius, I'm just playing.

WARNING: No plot. One shot. This is storytelling that is very intimate and some might say purely physical. Do not read if graphic slash bothers you. This isn’t quite that, but it’s close enough. For those of you who are accustomed to a certain quality from me, different days have different stories. I think this has something to do with having to keep from showing it in Harry's story for now.

* * *

 

 

 

**DACRYPHILIA:** Generally this is associated with Males. It is the actual pleasure derived from a deep emotional release, such as sobbing or crying. In most contexts, it refers to the pleasure a Top receives when the Bottom is reduced to tears, from their administration of some form of pain.

Quote: " Where one gets sexual pleasure from tears, sobbing, of another, or themselves. Notably though from others, in a BDSM context."  — GayDemon.com

* * *

 

 

Draco needs to cry. That’s why he lets Harry make love to him. That’s why he lets Harry get a little rough. Harry’s weight, his strength, that crazy look in his eyes when they both know he’s not going to hold back, no matter what Draco says, is what they both want. Without his glasses, it’s a disturbing look on Harry, and Draco is counting on it.

He’s counting on the recklessness that Harry is famous for. Counting on those quidditch biceps and his thoughtless power, to make the world fall away. The creaking of their bed is a focal point, a witness, an auditory time keeper that proves this is happening. Proves his legs are open wide. This is something he doesn’t do for anyone, and the scraping knock of the bed proves that Harry needs it as much as he does. Harry is causing these sounds.

The position is too vulnerable, too like a woman in medical stirrups, but he’s letting Harry fill the space between his thighs and it doesn’t feel at all the way it looks. Harry’s body is fulfillment. It is release, when it covers his, and is dense infusion of granite-heat when Harry weighs him down. He can’t escape between the pressure that embeds him into the mattress and he likes not being able to escape.

When they are like this, he’s glad that he’s lighter and slender, and that Harry is heavier and darker. The strongest person is the one shouldering the responsibility, and this is what Harry does for him. He needs to know how much his body is wanted, and this is how Harry tells him.

Feelings. They don’t come out until Harry pushes them out. With his tongue and with his hips. It’s better when they’re fully clothed, because then they have to move more and work harder to feel each other. Draco can’t cry with just anyone because it isn’t about pain. This isn’t even about sex. It’s about getting something no one else can give him. It’s about being filled with emotion to the point of bursting. It is so much more than sex, so much more than predictable body fluids.

He wasn’t allowed to feel at home. Feelings meant betrayal. Feelings meant loving people his father didn’t want him to love. Feeling meant freeing them and risking wrath upon his whole family. But what his father didn’t know, was that he’d only dammed himself up, and at the end of the day, he’d kill to just fucking feel. He’d kill to be ridden like this.

Only Harry wasn’t afraid to make him hurt so sweetly. Only Harry was too gentle to say no, but rough enough to graze places inside him that nicer men were afraid to reach. Not just his body. It felt like Harry was rolling his soul. If he looked vulnerable beneath Harry, for even a second, then so be it. If his father ever walked in on them, then so be it. If he needed Harry’s thrusts to push tears out of him, then he would take his fill.

People who dwell on the surface of their emotions, “surface dwellers,” without fully understanding them, often think that tears are only about sadness and suffering, and that right is right and wrong is wrong. But a Death Eater’s son knows differently. A Death Eater’s son knows that wrong is feeling trapped in helplessness, and right is Harry on top of him, the only way out. The only light.

A Death Eater’s son lives in the gloaming, where it’s never fully day, never fully night, and it takes Harry working till his sweat falls onto Draco’s face and chest, that relief from being pulled by both worlds finally come.

Draco’s life has forced him to go deep into his feelings in order to survive, and he’s found treasures there, that others misunderstand. He’s found tears. Not Harry. Not this dark savior who resents being chosen, resents being good when he wants to be bad, resents being held to a higher standard. Harry doesn’t judge him. Instead, he watches and seems to drink Draco’s tears, his eyes glutton for more and grateful for what Draco is showing him. Delicious, secret, too good to hold back.

The world never gets to see this. Draco’s hands scraping over the dimples at the base of Harry’s back, demanding Harry deeper, harder, more, and never never stop. Even when we’re not doing this, even when we have to be in public, just please don’t ever stop giving me this.

Tears are the breaking point. It happens on his back. He takes Harry’s thrusts because it’s wonderful, not because it hurts. But both reasons look the same. _Both reasons look the same._ Beneath Harry, he’s learned that crying is just as essential as breathing, just as vital as a beating heart. Mercifully, Harry lets him without making him feel ashamed of it.

If Lucius ever caught them, he would think that Harry was killing Draco. When it’s this wonderful, the tears look exactly the same.

End.

Top stories by this writer:

[Unbearable Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031138)

[Snow Globe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530506)

[Cauldron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813984/chapters/49474280)

[New House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/47577052) (This can be enjoyed as a stand alone, or as chapter 3 of [A Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/45866704)) 

A/N: 

So, a wonderful reader, FanFic_Addict1993, commented on a short story. My reply went places I’d been bottling up for a while. Someone might be entertained by this. I’m a little sick, so ideas might not be as crisp as they could be. But it feels good to talk.

 This little fic burst from me in something of a sudden rage to get out. It rose up in response to a lot of anti-noncon/rape talk. I was speaking to the hypocrite in people who've convinced themselves that the only sex worth writing about, is sex that's sweet and tender, and everything goes well. That can be great, but don't act like you don't know what an orgasm really is. It's an acceleration of the body and mind that is so aggressive in thrust, that it results in seizures, temporal disruption, loss of motor skills, and disorientation. In short, orgasms are violent! Incredibly pleasurable, but violent.

 Your vital signs would look the same if you were headed for a head-on collision, only an endorphin high makes the difference. So stop bitching (to the people who bitch) about fics that write it hard. Some people need it that way. We control our emotions all day, it's gonna take more than a snuggle to get to our hearts and convince us to feel powerful emotion. This is why I write noncon/dubcon. If the characters are really vivid, then that dance, that chase, is ecstasy. So sexual violence has a place in a writer's quest for tremendous emotion.

 In this fic, Draco mildly demonstrates that. He's saying, 'I need to cry and sex is the only thing that encompasses all the pain, shame, and bliss I feel, that it pushes me over the edge enough to let that happen.'

 There's nothing vanilla about the mildest, most romantic orgasm, yet the fiercest noncon haters fill their stories up with them without any thoughts to the involuntary dynamics that make even a consensual encounter dependent on the sublime mechanics of the human body and emotions. The only thing I'm doing, is pausing at that moment that they all gloss over, and prolong it. I turn it into a story. I take the storm of that moment, where thought cannot be processed in the usual ways, and build character, setting, and plot.

 Don't look at my themes as if I'm doing something beneath you (noncon haters). You like the surface of sex, I like the depths. I was underage once, and too inhibited to act on my feelings. At no time did I want to be a victim. But I used my fantasies to create scenarios where inhibited characters attracted "villains" who would give them the physical contact they wanted, and the protagonist could remain blameless and sustain the illusion of hating it all. In real life, this is the stuff of political-correctness nightmares, but to my fourteen year-old self, this was the stuff that made me want to live and tell stories that inspired tremendous emotion. You don’t give up your passion just because others don’t know how to play nice in the real world.

Aggressive sex, when done with characters who have souls, is just a variation on the noncon theme. At the heart of noncon, are emotions that want to get out. Please stop putting down writers who need to write this. They just need a place to put their tears and their love. For us, well-written noncon is the sweet spot, and we can finally let ourselves cry for the tragic characters trapped in its ecstasy. Which, by the way, is written to look like pain because, well, think of what people's facial expressions look like when they're climaxing. It's not pretty. So I don't show pretty when I write a noncon scenes. I show intensity. (The best representation I have for this, is Masterpiece – Severus).

I couldn't get certain readers to see that flirtation with sexual pain in fantasy, has NOTHING to do with real life victimization. NOTHING. It's strong sexual emotion. The hero gets to beat the shit out of the bad guy, and we all cheer. In my stories, someone who can't allow themselves sexual release, finally gets to do so under tremendous duress. These stories aren't written with a good-guy/bad-guy formula, and require a depth of storytelling that BDSM can't come close to satisfying.

 I blurred the lines by letting Draco be aware of his need for aggression in bed. In almost every story I write, the reoccurring theme is 'Being relieved of accountability and responsibility for indulging in something that's inappropriate, but is very much desired as far as raw pleasure and emotion is concerned.' No one can blame the victim for being a victim. It's a useful tool in fiction, and only in fiction. It comes from being fourteen, a virgin, and fascinated by what adults do, yet too young and too insecure to participate. Decades later, this whole combination makes for the best emotional experiences, that I tailor them to fit my mature interests as a writer.

 This is so good to me, I don’t want a story where the sex is perfectly agreeable and there are no problems. Not really. I can go outside and stare at flowers for that. I want a deep emotional investment. Stories don’t need noncon for this, but that’s just where I bring out the most love, ironically enough.

 I have to cut this off here, I’ve been a little under the weather, and tend to ramble. Thank you to FanFic_Addict1993, if she’s in this group, for helping me to say what I wanted to say.

**Author's Note:**

> *Note: I've learned that my stories never really end. Even if I mark a chapter complete, inspiration could still have me adding to it.


End file.
